heartshatter

white sheets, old wisps, fragile ghosts.

[un-lost]

me: *is a writer*

me: *is not an artist* *does not draw AT ALL*

me: *sees an art tutorial* oh wow i should definitely save this never know when you'll need it

me: *sees writing tips/resources* lol i dont need this bye

[un-lost]

[un-lost]

i blocked so many irl ppl on twitter bc i wanted to rant/be myself/fangirl about shit in peace but then i realized it’s one of the few ways i can contact some people (that im not v close to) as well as my future blockmates/whatever in college so now im sad and kinda pissed bc i should probably make a separate account for close friends but what’s the fucking point

like on one hand im sure mostof these ppl dont give a shit about what i talk about but i still get so nervous/paranoid that theyre secretly judging me and going “wow what a weirdo loser lolol” or “god she has no life/weird af hobbies” and i HATE IT

[un-lost]

i know this is my ~writing blog but it’s also become the place to dump personal rants/readmores so

sometimes i feel guilty for the fact that im just using people -- i dont really care if they fall out of my life and i’d rather not interact w them but i keep them around, do small talk, be polite etc bc i need them -- maybe just for an assignment, some news related to something i need, school stuff etc

like i  get that a great deal of socializing isnt just for fun and to save face but rather for the social circle that will help u go higher in life.. but it just makes me uncomfortable bc sometimes i feel like i cannot be who i want to be

i could go thru the whole ~make a 2nd hidden social media account or something thats only for my good friends but im 2 lazy and not worth the effort

ON ANOTHER NOTE:

sometimes im still lonely and sad even after i just hung out/talked to someone and it’s so weird bc... in the past that fixed it but now... not enough anymore. sigh.

[un-lost]

i am so fucking sad

and so lonely

why am i so lonely?

idk there is no reason to be but i am

i feel like people are ignoring me (even though theyre probs just busy or something...) ... and i feel so trapped and useless again... i wish i had more freedom, wish i had more time to myself that’s not just stuck at home because i cant go around due to lack of transpo

i cant write

everyone has a life, everyone is having fun, everyone is productive

not me

not me

i hate this life, i hate this city, i hate this country, i hate my stupid self i hadte hate hate hate hate

i need to get out more but i still have to rely on other people for transpo and i hate it, i hate it

in my entire life there were only two things i was proud of : my intelligence and maturity/independence

now i have realized i am not intelligent -- at most i am average 

and i am not mature, definitely not independent at all

there is nothing about myself i am proud of anymore

im just trudging by

fuck

i dont even have a bright future, because obviously as a writer lol what is income and i dont want to publish for a living

also historians have no respect/income in this country unless youre into the academe or something (publish or perish, for ex.)

damn. idk.

[un-lost]

late night worship

the incense burns my lungs; i am a sinner— my knees are bruised but not from kneeling instead of prayers i retch desperation, my hands fumble with the wrong steps, clasping them does not mean prayer mea culpa, mea culpa, my dead darlings the priest nurtures a crucifix and i nurtured a mouth until i tasted the iron, the blood, the wine, the wafer, the skin i took a body and devoured it whole

[un-lost]

you cannot tame what isn’t yours

the light years drone on in this choked up city— dead stars drowned in open gutters and bright stars in dirty hands

you whispered a wish but all you got was black smoke and smog (your lungs will never be clean)

then again, you have been fighting since birth from childhood you’ve known the taste of sourbitterpain, the wounds that heal wrong

the city was a beast and you learned to tame it under your dark hands spilled blood is familiar blood—spilled blood is yours

[shotgunbreeding]

metro manila gothic

         There is a beggar child staring at you from across the street. You blink, and he is five feet closer. “Patawad,” you say, and he smiles. There are too many silver teeth.

         It’s raining again. It’s always been raining. The storm clouds hover above the electric wires. In front of you, there is a lone McDonald’s, its neon Open 24 Hours sign your only salvation.

         You’re stuck in traffic. You have been here for thirty minutes, for two hours, for twenty-five days. The Toyota behind you honks for the twenty-second time. You turn your head and see that all the cars are empty. There is no stoplight.

         An old woman selling barbecue smiles up at you. Her eyes are darker than the charcoal staining her blouse. You take a bite of the too-red meat. It’s tenderer than you expect, almost like a mother’s fond touch. At ten pesos, it’s not that bad.

         The MRT coach is packed at rush hour. Someone presses against you. Another person stumbles against your back. There is another, and another, and another. A hand caresses your wrist. It has too many fingers.

         What time is it? Who knows? The sun is up high, and you are sweating, sweating. You wipe the sweat from your brow and your hand comes back red. The boy in front of you is melting into the asphalt. In five minutes, all that’s left of him is a single Sperry’s shoe.

         You find an old Forever 21 bag underneath your desk. Why is it there? How long has it been there? Who left it behind? From inside, something growls. Red eyes pierce through the yellow fabric. Maybe you’ll stick to Landmark instead.

[un-lost]

the everyday war song

Today, I swallowed rainwater And tasted the sky; It was thick and bitter, Filling up my mouth

I felt eternity on my tongue— Billions of yesteryears and Billions of tomorrows— As time seeped into my nerves

The sweetness of the stars Strangled my nose like perfume, And I could not breathe Because the air was older than my blood

The horizon is but a speck; I am smaller than small, But I can taste the hint of beauty Outliving us all

And while our bones are brittle And our lives threadbare, We are allowed to exist, No matter how small.

[un-lost]

i swallowed darkness and gave it another name

a shadow crept into my bones and left something behind-- something alive, something awake, something barely tangible-- it digs its claws into my scalp and begs for something i cannot yet give

i can hear it breathing next to me when i close my eyes and right before i wake something heavy sits on my chest, but when my vision clears it burrows back into its dark lair-- and my ribcage greets it with open arms

i have forgotten dreams and i have nearly forgotten sleep because midnight in the city is blacker than ever, yet the moon is neon-bright, pulsing with secrets, and i (the thing buried inside of me), i am finally home.

[un-lost]

there are phantoms and they refuse to leave

The anger thrumming underneath my skin is finally home It spits and snarls, croons and chatters, Reminding me of love poems I've never even read.

There is no fear in my bones, no glass in my throat I swallowed the matchsticks whole and hoped for a flame, But they drowned in my gut and now I breathe smoke.

The jagged edge of a promise lies forgotten between my teeth Sometimes it tastes bitter; sometimes it's sweet, But most of all--it stings

And the pain is good, and the pain is home And I can pretend that the rage bubbling in my veins Has drowned itself dead and gone.

[un-lost]

and i think, at one point, we were right.

there used to be a poem between my teeth but i swallowed it whole and forgot all the words these days i can't look at you and i can't breathe but i guess i can get used to it

your name used to mean something but now it's just a whimper and i don't remember when i stopped loving you-- i just did

the world continues to turn underneath our feet as the spaces in between our conversations grow larger i can't feel anything anymore, but that's still something, right? that's still something worth keeping?

there used to be something important on my tongue, in your hands, but you've washed them all so clean that i've forgotten everything, everything except that it used to mean something. i think, at one point, we thought we were in love.

[un-lost]

hey! i came across a poem of yours and after reading some others i have to say that i'm a big fan! i really like how you number the stanzas in your most recent two, it's a super cool set up :) i have a blog that i put writing on as well and it would be awesome if you could check it out!! blythewrites tumblr com

ahh, thank you very much! :)

i did read your blog, and one missed facetime call is my favorite. (it also really hurts)

[un-lost]

i. he spat out the stars, stomped on them like they were cigarettes, because they burned his tongue ii. she used to eat soil until her stomach bloated-- some caricature of life iii. they found atlantis under a rotten pier and laughed like the dead iv. she kissed the mirror, tasted all his promises, and slipped out of her skin

[un-lost]

what school taught me

1. I am a stupid useless piece of shit that won't ever be successful. 2. trust no one 3. schoolwork is more important than your physical, emotional and mental health 4. your life is going to be ruined for petty, invalid reasons just because persons of authority can 5. human beings are not meant to ingest sorry excuses of cafeteria food five times a week for several years 6. mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell

[un-lost]

choke on hope

eyelids heavy with tar, mouth full of salt, dreams dying afar, skin melting like malt on my tongue, soft caramel, sweet and sweeter-- sixteen's no damn marvel; we all grow bitter the sting grows faint with each passing hour and i know i'm no saint-- although i only cower --but there is glass in my throat and i cannot scream so why would i sugarcoat while my blood turns to steam?

[un-lost]